


Zdôvodňovanie

by Begone



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: M/M, Multiple Sex Positions, Patch 5.2: Echoes of a Fallen Star Spoilers, Strap-Ons, Temperature Play, Tentacles, Trans Male Character, WRITTEN PRE 5.3 PATCH AUUUUUUGH, one mildly gory scene, sex between tempered characters, some weird mix of physical and aether sex, worship kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 05:08:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,309
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25807888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Begone/pseuds/Begone
Summary: He does not care if it is his body that will break, though. Let him burn, wither, dissolve, as long as Elidibus remains whole.(or what currently constitutes as whole)
Relationships: Elidibus/Lahabrea (Final Fantasy XIV), Elidibus/Lahabrea/Zodiark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 20





	Zdôvodňovanie

**Author's Note:**

> A gift for a good friend.
> 
> I tend to interpret tempering in a specific way. Hopefully it comes across that everything in this fic is consensual. Feel free to just read half because everything up to the sex scenes is like a solid 5k. I've been sitting on this for months lol might as well pub it before 5.3 slaps my face and calls me a dumbass.
> 
> I don't regret bastardizing christian prayers.

Emet-Selch slept, catatonic for the past few days.

Elidibus convalesced, wound needing redress.

Lahabrea stared at the wall, mind unfocused and blank.

The past few days, no, _weeks_ , felt surreal. He stared at violet-drenched halls, stood in empty corridors. Emet-Selch correcting every ‘is’ to ‘was’ and the flinch that rolled through them both. Staring at a broken sky, knowing the sheer extent of what needs to be done.

The wound was fresh, would be for eons to come. Not just for Lahabrea, but for his cohorts as well. Grief would be brief; to rebuild the world they saved meant no time to truly mourn.

The world still reeled from Hydaelyn’s greatest blunder; its new, fragmented population navigating grief much like those left Unsundered. For these newly-minted mortals, recovery and reestablishment would take generations. Insurmountable tracts of time for insignificant lives, all grieving for something lost in both body and mind. Phantom cries in the night, nightmares of a time that they never witnessed, dreams of halcyon days.

The Unsundered grieved for what could have remained.

In the sole bastion left to Zodiark, _their_ recovery would proceed briskly. Sundered aether was fickle, a flame that blew out at the slightest breeze. Elidibus’ aether was a combined reckoning of hundreds, the ultimate sacrifice to pause what should have been judgement day. Like a star, he drew aether to himself— healing wounds far faster than pitiful flesh made from dregs of aether.

But he was still injured.

And Lahabrea did not _dare_ consider the mental impact.

As long as they breathed, as long as they could mouth spells, they could undo the work of Hydaelyn’s mewling wretches. Zodiark gave them precious, post-calamitous time to give respects, to collect fury, while His Unsundered vessel recovered. They had work to do on this fractured reality, to mend fabric torn asunder.

And Lahabrea was the only one awake to do so.

His footfalls were silent as he walked down the hall, a violet-studded ruin frozen mid-cataclysm. Silence reigned where once dozens bustled through, the cacophony of multiple conversations now long faded. They had made their temporary home in memoriam to what was lost, what would be regained, what would rise again when every piece was reconnected.

Elidibus’ room is sinfully small, with barely enough room for a simple desk, altar, and various bedside accoutrements. Lahabrea’s boots sink into the plush, violet rug at the foot of the bed. Stares at the statuesque form tucked in, having moved not a single inch from the previous day. The only evidence Lahabrea tended to man and not corpse was an ever so gentle rise and fall of the chest, a memory of grey eyes staring at him, recalling the aetherial mist that daily wove with his.

It _hurts_. Eldibus’ robes are folded so neatly (he showed him how their first night together) on the nightstand, his mask weighing the fabric down. Zodiark’s pull is scintillant, radiating from the Heart. If he was an artist, he’d draw Elidibus lying there, a halo about his wound, lines of the blackest, purest, life-giving darkness stabbing forth from his corpus. Elidibus’ aether was that of Zodiark’s now, halo able to manifest in reality, a theophany the Ancients before him called the mark of a god.

And here Lahabrea was, gazing at his lover fused with man’s portraiture of divinity. The culmination of countless legends made manifest after Lahabrea’s tireless work fused with the desperate fervor of so, so many.

Tears stung the corners of his eyes, the raw edges of his aether withering with his heart. Zodiark stirs, breathes in the room, curls so gently into what remains. His caress is so much like Elidibus’, who knew where to soothe and what to pulse through such a transient bond, that it at first makes Lahabrea repulsed, flinching away and snarling at his divine homunculus.

He’s not the same, never will be after his Sacrifice.

_We may waken, if you desire._

Lahabrea pushes his halo into the voice, a warped, monotone _copy_ of Elidibus’ own. He can muster the barest of gritted respect in his response.

_I am not worthy of your grace, my lord_. _Your Heart needs succor_. _I’ve come to provide, nothing more_.

Zodiark hums, catches his aether, rolling part of it between tendrils that _explicitly_ remind him of Elidibus yet again. Lahabrea can feel his lip curl, vision blur. He takes a step forwards; Zodiark releases him.

With shaking hands, he Creates new bandages, pristine white like pristine robes.

Up close the smell of blood, both fresh and dried, cloys at his senses.

Elidibus sleeps like a corpse. Lahabrea puts a hand, ungloved, upon his bare chest, just to feel the ever-so-slight rise and fall. And Lahabrea inhales a shuddering breath, just an inch away from breaking into a sob.

Unwinding the bandages is not a simple task, for disturbing the body too much would risk aggravating the wounds. Lahabrea toys with soiled bandages, the dried crimson an oxidized rust crinkling under his thumbs. He plans his motions accordingly.

The chest would be hardest, remains the hardest, both in logistics and simply to look at. The blood dried exactly where gelid light had struck, Zodiark’s power the only thing that stood between Heart and that sacrilegious summon.

While it did not save Him, it saved someone perhaps more important to Lahabrea.

Pins unhook, an arm is uncovered. These wounds— shallow cuts and bruises that heal in sickly green and dirty yellow— should _not need_ another dressing. But Lahabrea redresses them anyways, focuses his mind on keeping bandages just tight enough, but not so tight that it strangles blood flow. One loop, a second, third, fourth… thirteenth, fifteenth, _he ignores a devilish number_ , sixteenth… and he reaches the shoulder.

Pins hook into fabric and Lahabrea stares at the gauze in his hand for far longer than he intended. Zodiark crawls like a massive cat behind him, rubbing up with caliginous grace, a power that represented the limitless potential of their kind condensed to focal point.

He ignores the stalking aether, a so-familiar hum that doggedly attempts to soothe his mind. He draws further back a part of his soul purposefully hidden from celestial contact.

“That’s not even how that song goes,” Lahabrea mutters, unwilling to silently correct his God through aether, unwilling to simultaneously show the raw edges of his grief so soon.

Zodiark pauses, pitches up. The crystalline tone changes tune, notes, pitch. Repeated with ever so slight variations until Lahabrea finally nods.

He picks up Elidibus’ other arm, leaning over. Aether pulls incessantly at his robes, counterbalances him, humming into his skin a melody only one other person knew.

He hates it so much now, but he won’t let it show.

And again, Lahabrea pauses at Eldibus’ chest. It is this area he _has_ to change the bandage, and like a fool he left most severe for last. Because of _sentimentality_ and his scattered mind. He cannot allow such things to cloud his vision. What he must inflict from now on would be far worse than this, over far longer swaths of time.

He does not care if it is _his_ body that will break, though. Let him burn, wither, dissolve, as long as Elidibus remains whole.

(or what currently constitutes as _whole_ )

_We can move,_ Zodiark purrs, interrupting his thoughts, booming and one-toned in his mind, _We cannot be slothful in weakness_.

Ephemeral claws skate across his hip, trace his hairline at the neck. It’s chillingly sweet, a perversion of someone’s touch. _Affection_.

He had not made Zodiark with the god being _affectionate_ in mind. And yet, Zodiark curls around him protectively, adoringly; in a way that _no other_ Convocation member receives. And, Lahabrea feels, will never be given.

Creating life was a complex affair. A living, breathing creature that one had to consider. Many type specimens were built to have a degree of affection for their creator. Why create an animal for it to bite your hand?

Lahabrea, knowing the sheer cultural weight Zodiark would carry, purposefully left the threads that would endear the god to him _out_.

Which meant this affection was _learned_.

And the only culprit is the _Heart_.

Lahabrea hesitates on the chest bandages, even after he bisected every loop. His eyes stare, unfocused, at the thin line of skin that dips into crimson and red. He could remove the bandages easily, but further than that would be irresponsible when unassisted.

Zodiark teases the fringes of his robes, makes a thousand tiny ants march along his skin, eerily playful despite the atrocities He recently experienced. Did it desire a degree of rapport with him? What could Zodiark gain from such obvious affection?

To humor Him, Lahabrea releases his halo, lets the god slam into him with a relief only a lover should possess, and holds back nausea. He flicks assent into the tendrils of aether swirling around his corona, mind buzzing awkwardly at the fact he was ordering _Zodiark_ around. A part of his soul numbs at his tacit request, quickly silenced by His Lord drawing away to _obey_.

… _Thank you_.

That is all Lahabrea would tell Him, and Zodiark’s vestiges press gentle praise, daring to thank Lahabrea for telling Him what He should do with His Heart.

Elidibus stirs immediately, eyes flicking under his lids before they open. Lahabrea lets loose a breath he unconsciously held, thumbing a bruised collarbone.

“Good morning,” He breathes, unable to find even a hint of mirth.

Zodiark buzzes between them, excitable in a way that makes it almost living, delighted that they are together with Him. A presence muted, but still noticeably there.

Elidibus stares at him from the corner of his eyes, closes them, sighs deep. “How long since…”

And _that_ is what he asks.

(Not ‘how are you Lahabrea?’)

(Not ‘it’s good to see you again’)

(Not even ‘I missed you’)

He didn’t know what he expected, but Lahabrea needed all his strength to not break down crying. _Strength_. He needs strength. He cannot do this in front of Elidibus, have the first thing he sees be Lahabrea completely undone. Zodiark chases the halo he so rapidly retreats, curls into his skin to try and find the burning aura that eluded Him.

(With time. The hooks of Tempering were raw and healing in his soul. Lahabrea could afford to hide emotions from Him. And by proxy, Elidibus. It was strange, like an emotion, able to be rebuffed, reasoned with.)

“A day,” Lahabrea’s response is automatic, trying to emulate the even, monotonous pitch Zodiark constantly intoned.

“And how much longer still?” The _echo_. The deep thrum that clouded his words, a reminder that Elidibus was not the man he knew not so long ago.

Zodiark’s divine thrill.

Lahabrea casts his eyes to the chest wound, Elidibus pointedly avoiding sitting up or even angling his head to look at it. It is deep, scabbed with shards of parasitic white crystals. He picks them out every day, but they’re numerous, feeding off the consummate darkness of thousands of lives. Much like the god they fragmented from, only existing to vexate.

Lahabrea would pluck them out, diligent and devout, every single day, until

none remained and the wound could truly heal.

“Only five today, I suspect they will be gone by the end of the week,” Lahabrea’s hand hovers over a shard, too scared to cause pain.

Elidibus had suffered _enough_. Lahabrea cannot continue to be the one that inflicts further suffering. Zodiark reverberates against his halo, a mantle around his shoulders, warm and familiar as He is unfamiliar. Strength and guidance. Noctilucent vitality that pours from the thin bond steels Lahabrea’s hand. His fingers grip onto the biggest sliver of Light, growing hyperaware of everything around him, breathing so much faster in anticipation of-

Elidibus screams like the dying as Lahabrea draws the shard out.

Zodiark numbs his ears, makes the scream warble and waver like an underwater dream. Distorted and inhuman, not the voice of his lover.

Lahabrea’s hand shakes above the second shard. It is smaller, much harder to grip clammy fingers around. His nail accidentally hits scabbing flesh, his ears pop into a sharp pealing ring of _noise_ — Zodiark’s way of silencing him to Elidibus’ screams. He draws the crystal out as he looks to the wall, crystalline hum dulling every sense in his mind and soul. His hand feels ghostly, floating somewhere it is not, a _presence_ possessing it that he dares not interrupt.

The third is thin, the type prone to breaking. He has to draw it out slowly, ignore how it seeks to worm into the flesh. Ignore how much it hurts someone else.

Once again Zodiark sings that demented melody he hates with all his soul. His sheer loathing for it helps him forget his fingers prick out the fourth.

And by the fifth he notices a _sixth_ , too small to pick out with claws. A white maggot in pristine flesh, chewing away unabashedly. It sickens him, and on the morrow he will _destroy_ it.

With the sordid task done, Lahabrea’s hearing clears in gentle stages. Zodiark curls aether about the silvery parasites in his hand, overpowering and consuming them into His darkness. The now-violet shards he places on a small tray, overflowing with others both large and small. And kicks it back under the bed, to be forgotten until tomorrow.

Elidibus shines with a layer of cold sweat, shaking minutely as his eyes slowly regain focus, the pain abating with a wave of relief Lahabrea can vicariously sense through Zodiark’s incessant circling.

Relief is good. Relief takes over the other, less pleasurable, background emotions. Ever so gradually, with Lahabrea immediately jumping to support him, Elidibus sits up, catches his breath, and Creates a rag to wipe at his brow.

“The chest bandages?”

“Not yet,” Lahabrea’s latent irritation makes Zodiark curious, plucking at his soul like a mandolin. He unceremoniously shoves the god from his corona, ignores how a part of him screams at the sacrilege.

Elidibus is silent, so woefully silent, as Lahabrea snatches his sweat-sodden rag and dissipates it in a flick of fingers. Does not move as Lahabrea materializes water and cloth, washes his neck, shoulder, brow with care he shouldn’t be giving to someone theoretically dead.

Elidibus leans into his touch, sighs low and staccato. His skin burns with momentary fever, the water drawing away all that ails.

“Your chest,” Lahabrea warns, and Zodiark withdraws to comfort His Heart.

Elidibus merely closes his eyes, a statue for Lahabrea to wash, a doll for a god he made. There’s no emotion in him, but what did Lahabrea expect? That he would remain, in some fashion, after the Ship of Theseus that is Zodiark took him apart and replaced every board with violet-saturated wood.

(That small part hoped, though)

(The same part that hoped Zodiark would prevail against Hydaelyn)

Lahabrea is careful around the injury, folding damp cloth when it comes away red-brown, breath wavering with every swipe of his hand. He could use _help_.

And of course Emet-Selch _sleeps_. Narcoleptic _piece of shit_. His _husband_ started this mess, and it took the love of Lahabrea’s life to stop it. And all that waste of space did was bitch, moan, and sleep through this _madness_ of a world post-Sundering. And Lahabrea was left to pick up everything. Plan, plot, play physician. _Pray_.

The smell of old blood is gone when Lahabrea finally dissipates his materials. He picks bandages up and begins to wrap them slow. The wound no longer bleeds, and that is good. One more step to recovery. And Lahabrea reminds himself that he is the only one who can right this course, be the lone conductor in an orchestra of ghosts. He would be the one to set it right, one shard at a time, to return all that was lost.

(At the initial cost of _his_ heart)

He at last covers up the egregious display of divine mortality in bands of pure white.

“Done.”

Lahabrea’s voice is hollow, internally gleeful in how he tries to emulate that dreadfully monotone voice. A tendril of shadow moves close and he shies from it, like a school of fish parting for a shark.

Slowly, Elidibus raises a hand to brush at his bandages, opens his eyes, turns his head towards Lahabrea. “Thank you,” his voice is raw, tinged with fading pain, “You may leave.”

It hit Lahabrea, then, as he stands to do just that.

Elidibus’ aether is one and same to Zodiark’s, an eclipse of darkness around a burning corona of life. The god and Elidibus are one and the same, in a fashion. One cannot exist without the other, cannot hope to hide from the other. And then, surely, he must have felt Lahabrea constantly _pushing him away_.

He freezes where he stands, cold realization sinking into his skin. This was a hell of his own making, Lahabrea chides himself, but this man is not who he _is_. Lahabrea’s mind is torn, tattered, grief-struck and webbed with cracks and contradictions. Wanting to believe and accept reality while he desperately wanted the past.

Truth is horrible. Truth is grey.

He ignores human nature, the need and want. If he does not steel himself now, how will he later? But here he is, accepting consequence for being so ignorant of anything but his own feelings. That a piece of his lover might yet wish to be with him. But it isn’t his love, will never be. Zodiark is facsimile, intruder in a sacred bond. A bond that was broken when death did them part.

After that moment of befuddled clarity, Lahabrea truly turns to leave, moving with undead grace towards the door.

“Wait,” Elidibus’ voice is soft. Lahabrea’s heart flutters, “Can you stay a while?”

_Human nature_ tears away every paper-thin barrier he’s erected. The scales tip towards one theory, despite surmounting evidence to the contrary. It’s what he wants, what he needs, and for once Lahabrea can allow himself to _indulge_.

His hand was on the handle, just for a second, and then it was not.

Carefully, hiding muscles trembling with pure anticipation, Lahabrea slinks back towards the bed. Sits on the edge and _stares_. He may live, for just a moment, pretend for a second that this waxen model is his lover and that he is his. Because it is Elidibus, it _will_ be him. Contradictory mess that Lahabrea’s mind is.

Aetherial contact, tinged with the thrum of vast aether, pulls a sigh from Lahabrea’s lips. He does not deny the presence at his halo, curls back into it with a tenderness he was remiss in returning. Two _men_ sit silently next to each other. Two _Ancients_ share a touch holotypic to their kind.

He missed this.

Elidibus makes the first physical move. The whirl of their aether is simple emotions, only elemental presence. An aetherial touch, a proximity that reminds both of who they are and that they are not alone. The hand that lands on Lahabrea’s shoulder is light, so _human_ (when did he assume it wasn’t?), that it overwhelms him.

And finally Lahabrea cries.

He hangs his hand on Elidibus’ arm, curls his body forwards and _sobs_. Tears held back during the Final Days, during the Summoning, during the Sundering are finally let go. It streaks the inside of his mask, stains his cheeks, drips salt and wetness into his dry mouth.

It hurts, it balms, it soothes and claws his body raw. There are no words left, a Speaker speechless, holding on to a lifeline wrapped in white gauze. The curtains of dim aether roll back, something familiar at the edge of his consciousness, his body trembling as his soul roils like tempest-struck waters. Very slowly, very gently, another hand slips around the one in his lap. Elidibus’ fingers thread with his own, thumb caressing the side of his palm.

And the other arm only slides down, Lahabrea’s hand fumbling to clutch weakly as Elidibus closes the distance between them and lets their foreheads touch.

Elidibus’ corona is perfectly calm, almost disturbingly so after all that had occurred. Lahabrea knows how stubborn he is and how _well_ he can mask emotion when needed. But it’s what Lahabrea needs, a rock physical and mental he can bash his stricken psyche against.

The tears still come long after Lahabrea wants them to end. Sobs that gurgle from his throat, silent wails that convulse his body in grotesque shivers, dry-vomiting emotion in the same breath he strangles out a cry. And yet, Elidibus keeps close, hand in hand, forehead to forehead, for as long as Lahabrea needs. The halcyon echo of his corona is soothing; memories press into the raw, torn edges of Lahabrea’s soul. Brief memories of lazy mornings; the time Lahabrea tricked Emet-Selch into opening a joke toy; Elidibus’ view of Lahabrea feeding a winged equine, watching the delight skitter across his face as the Creation fed from his hand.

Lahabrea follows the calm, even pace of his beloved’s breaths, focuses on the emotions of the memories they both shared. Elidibus experienced them in a different angle, different intensity, but it’s so wildly intimate, so _achingly_ crux to their lives together. The new perspective frays his mind, makes it his sole focus for as long as it gives him transient joy. A distraction that stills his shoulders, dries his eyes, soothes the spasms of grieving muscle.

The quiet is a lull well needed, for there’s a specific, bone-deep exhaustion and exhilaration that comes after bawling one’s eyes out. Lahabrea is boneless, blank, bound where he sits. The cloak of calm and memories parts, a vein of shadow flitting in the corner of Lahabrea’s mind’s eye, Elidibus greets him with a mental warmth and contentment that’s familiar.

“I’m sorry it wasn’t enough,” His true voice is rough against Lahabrea’s ears, the only evidence of the emotions held back. The mask he wore in lieu of the one on his face, all for Lahabrea’s sake.

(And there would come a time Lahabrea would resent it)

“You’ve done more than enough,” Lahabrea croaks, mouth too dry to swallow.

A gentle kiss presses into his brow in the same moment a sharp ring of fear passes through his soul as Elidibus’ hands unwind. It shocks the other man to stillness, lets Lahabrea cling to fingers, listen to a gentle sigh from weary lips.

“Don’t leave. Come closer,” Even when suffering from minor disuse, Lahabrea could never truly hate Eldibus’ voice.

It is perfect when in tandem to his own. They’re a duet that sings on the auditorium floor, commanding attention and drawing all ears towards them. Elidibus could speak the most wretched, boring passage from the dustiest tome he could find and Lahabrea would knock people over to listen.

Lahabrea takes a sharp breath that comes in staggers, Elidibus wrapping a hand about his waist as Lahabrea draws his feet up onto the bed. A gentle gradient of sorrow had started to creep into his halo, and Elidibus’ unearthly calm merely rose to meet him, threading their souls towards a unity that made Lahabrea’s fingertips prick.

They sit, for however long Lahabrea desired, curled against each other. Basking in physicality and each other’s spirit. Their coronae bleed into each other, so close that their thoughts mix together, all-consuming calm that spikes with bouts of doubt and neuroticism, quickly smoothed down with gentle warmth and unflinching patience.

It is Lahabrea who ends the mingling of their souls, a slow vein of ice crawling up his back the longer they were intertwined. There’s something different (of course there is, he-) about Elidibus’ soul, the memories and energy hazy, certain ones held just out of reach, but Lahabrea knows them to be completely foreign. They’d been a couple for too long, shared souls and memories too often. There’s a slow realization that _his_ hopes are not the _only_ ones Elidibus (can he be called that?) carries.

He removes himself purely to avoid rejecting Elidibus yet again. There’s a muzzy grunt next to his ear, Elidibus radiating disappointment at the lack of contact, something dark and massive slithering near. “What’s the matter?” He sounds groggy, as if he was falling asleep, and Lahabrea feels guilty for his own choice.

“Nothing, I…” He wants to ignore the presence in the room, the effigy of a thousand looming ghosts.

For one hour he wants to play pretend that this isn’t some dingy, tiny room in a misbegotten, so-called chapel. That they’re not the last people left in the world. That Elidibus isn’t a snake with two heads. That he-

“… I simply want _touch_ , Elidibus.”

Three things happen concurrently. Elidibus shifts a hand to grasp Lahabrea’s mask, a hand bunches the fabric at his waist, and Lahabrea looks him dead in the eyes.

They hold the gaze for a few moments, the hand on Lahabrea’s hip dipping a thumb _lower_. Very gently, Lahabrea’s mask is removed, tossed with perfect aim to land on top of Elidibus’ own. The culprit merely raises his brows, a wordless invitation.

Lahabrea’s breath hitches, he turns away, shifts into the hand ever so slowly drawing his robes higher.

“And what if such feelings are reciprocated?” Elidibus breathes, “How much can you give?”

The answer is colored by a part of him that smarts and burns raw violet. A compulsion that grips him _fiercely_. “ _Everything_. I will give you everything I can and then _more_. The world fourteen times over. I’ll give you the ashes of stolen lifetimes, the sands of time spilled. All for _you_. _Always_ for you.”

Something deep within Lahabrea is satisfied with that, burgeoning with a fluttering power. There’s a smirk that tugs on Elidibus’ lips, a foreign approval that feels much like the aether Lahabrea disentangled from.

He does not question what, who, or why. It is a content feeling, therefore he is too. He holds no qualms— it is truth.

Elidibus draws away, leaning back and placing his hands on his lap. There’s an understanding in his soul, an almost instinctual knowledge of what he should do. Hands pick at strings, loosen fabric that is kept taut to his frame. Lahabrea shifts in his seat and pulls his robes off, foot by foot, to let the fabric slide onto the floor. With deft fingers he unbuckles his boots, sends them to rest on his sleeves, clinking as metal hits metal.

Approval rings through a bond he does not wish to mention. He simply assumes their haloes still touch. Elidibus hums his appreciation.

Neither of them are muscular to begin with- they were men of _knowledge_ , not of cold steel. But there is a difference between Lahabrea’s lankier, bonier frame and Elidibus’ stockier one. One that refused more than two bites of dinner and the other who silently ate what was left behind.

“You’re lovely,” the praise hits deep, shocks Lahabrea like cold water.

He’s been told that time and time before, and it _never_ ceases to make him react.

Lahabrea attempts a reply, only making broken half-words, the corner of his mouth flicking up in a dumb grin. So foolish, to be flustered like this. He blushes and stammers like it’s their first night all over again. And a part of him knows that the other loves it, revels in it.

“Don’t _think_ I haven’t enjoyed nursing you- naked in bed with only a blanket to cover your modesty,” Lahabrea finally finds his voice, immediately moving to verbally parry a complement with one of his own.

Elidibus, at least, huffs in amusement. “Well,” He responds, shifting under the covers, a hand slowly sliding under, the only warning as Lahabrea would get.

The next moment, Elidibus throws the sheets back, grabbing Lahabrea’s wrist to pull him forwards. Lahabrea would never admit to the tiny, surprised, excited noise he makes, steading himself by planting his free hand next to Elidibus’ hip. He’s mere inches away from Elidibus’ chest bandages, the arm that grabbed him now cupping his chin, helping him up to a warm, chaste kiss.

“…A good deed deserves just reward, doesn’t it, Lahabrea?” What rust had collected in Elidibus’ throat was now gone. His voice is a silken purr, the title rolling from his lips one syllable at a time, breath warm on his lips. Savoring. Exulting.

It makes Lahabrea’s legs feel lighter than air.

Lahabrea moves to straddle Elidibus, making the other man hitch an excited breath, let the aether in the air curl in turn. Lahabrea echoes the sentiment, his aether skittering like lightning against the fringes of Elidibus’ own.

“Oh, it does, but not until we celebrate your recovery,” The thought of servicing Elidibus, taking care of his every need, every want, opens a gate of pure, feral desire in Lahabrea’s mind. To wrap physical with immaterial, arch his back as he sings praises under breathless gasps…

It coils a delicious warmth between his legs he hadn’t felt in so, so long. Lahabrea leans forwards to give a slow kiss, tongue tracing lips until he is allowed to taste teeth, open his mouth and see how long he could hold a breath.

“Mmm,” Elidibus pulls away, inhaling sharply, eyes closed and relaxed, “Nothing too strenuous tonight.”

Unspoken is the wound, the saturated darkness on the fringes. The present is in pause. Tonight, they pretend in the _past_.

“Tired?” Lahabrea brushes his thumb past an ear, longs to hear the sound of his fingers scratching Elidibus’ hair.

“Very.”

“Poor dear Elidibus, run ragged by the Convocation for the umpteenth time,” Lahabrea dips his voice into huskier tones, gently kissing his nose before pecking at cheek and jawline, “Whatever shall they do without you, their glorious leader?”

Lahabrea’s pulled into another long, slow kiss, Elidibus humming deep enough to shake his teeth. “Goodness, within the first hour things would go wrong.”

“Emet-Selch would walk in wearing his sleepclothes…”

“Igeyorhm would attempt to do everything at once…”

“Halmarult would likely walk out the first minute, to gain precious time on a new botanical concept…”

They both keep throwing out scenarios, trying to entice the other to laughter. Elidibus’ hands wrap around Lahabrea’s hips, Lahabrea rests his elbows on Elidibus’ shoulders, hands clasped behind the man’s neck. Elidibus eventually succeeds with a fanciful scenario involving Mitron dragging everyone to the beach.

“At least half of us would burn, you know we barely see an hour of light per _year_ ,” Lahabrea brushes his nose into Elidibus’ temple, thankful he still smells the same. That not _everything_ has changed. That not _everything_ is dyed violet.

“Oh and what a spectacle you all would make the next day, skin as red as your masks, as we so carefully tiptoe around the previous day’s events,” That even pulls a laugh from Elidibus, the last few words bit out between chuckles.

The silence that follows is almost awkward, both of them aware they’re in high anticipation, yet unsure of how to move forwards. Lahabrea swallows, licks spit-slicked lips, keeps eyes downcast, rolls a thought in his head. Yet Elidibus was always quicker with his words.

“Take me,” His voice is quiet, watching the surprise take hold in Lahabrea’s face, “You know our… exhaustion. You deserve all, not trite half-effort.”

Lahabrea’s mouth is suddenly dry, a nervous laugh caught in his mouth. This isn’t the usual way their nights play out and they both know it, avoid vocalizing it. A white-clad elephant in the room. “… And who am I to force you when you have done so much? That is fine. Tonight I’ll serve you, my prince, my heart, my _soul_.”

There’s an appreciative groan, the lit in Lahabrea’s voice rising and falling, a cadence that mirrors the fervor in his eyes. Elidibus closes his eyes, savors every word like it is the last he’d ever hear.

“Your voice is heavenly, so suited for praise,” Elidibus sighs, tilts his head, gently brushes a hand through Lahabrea’s hair.

“I only say what is obvious to all.”

A smirk immediately springs to Elidibus’ lips in the same moment Lahabrea feels a thousand dull pinpricks pull at his scalp. They both freeze as Lahabrea yelps, pulling away from Elidibus hand only to intensify the pain into a sharp swath on the side of his head.

Tears sting the corners of Lahabrea’s eyes, he can hear the sharp slap he gives Elidibus’ hand. His fingers smart and burn, but it, like where his hair was pulled, fades after a few seconds.

What doesn’t fade is the smoldering _annoyance_ of having his hair jerked so suddenly. It dried up any shred of lust in his body with the ferocity of a desert sun, made him curl his lip at Elidibus and sneer at his sheer _incompetence_.

Elidibus has the _gall_ to sit up far too quickly. The motion makes the corner of his mouth wince, which is the sweetest honey for Lahabrea’s vindictiveness. Not even a moment later, a hand creeps towards his thigh, a hawkish glare enough to send it scurrying back.

“Lahabrea,” Elidibus had the gall to sound _charming_.

All the charm in the world fell flat against a Lahabrea scorned.

“Don’t you _purr_ and _mewl_ at me,” Lahabrea spits, holding a hand to his chest, as if Elidibus could soil it just by proximity, “That _hurt_.”

He knew this game so well, the fury slowly melting to just a façade.

Elidibus tsk-s under his breath, trying to look slightly apologetic, “Come now, love, it was not on purpose.”

“Well, _love_ , then I won’t mean to continue this _farce_ ,” Oh, that was a good one, Lahabrea lifts his chin defiantly, giving Elidibus his best disdainful side-eye.

All slotted into place for their little play, actors forgetting they’re acting.

Approval, longing, relief warms a part of Lahabrea’s soul, radiating from the edges, making him mentally twitch and consider relenting. But, there’s opportunity, born from a malicious part of him that burned low.

Threatening to walk out, just when they regained a small fragment of normalcy… Now, he truly wondered what Elidibus would do. Usually, Lahabrea’s tantrums ended because, frustratingly enough, Elidibus was more patient than he had any right to be.

Elidibus bites his lip, a small motion that Lahabrea barely notices. All his patience is useless in this context. Neither of them knew when, or even _if_ , there would be a next time.

“We don’t have to suffer that,” Elidibus is quick, speaking up the moment Lahabrea gives the slightest indication of replying, “Come back, Lahabrea.”

A hand beckons, but honeyed words fall on uncaring ears. Lahabrea’s lips form a thin line, eyes narrowing in defiance.

They stare at each other in silence, Lahabrea wondering if Elidibus would truly cave under the false pressure. The other man shifts his weight, resting it on one elbow, other arm draped across his hip. Lahabrea’s eyes flick to how close Elidibus’ fingers are to his stomach, then away, then back again.

Elidibus never did anything spontaneously. Perhaps it was Lahabrea who was in anticipation.

Elidibus brushes nails against his treasure trail, casually deliberate, enough motion to draw Lahabrea’s gaze again.

“So scornful and capricious… Giving up so soon, Speaker? Not many are privy to the sights you are given,” Lahabrea’s eyes follow Elidibus’ fingers as they brush and flick, finally watching Elidibus curl a single finger into his sex.

They both hiss at once.

Elidibus slowly draws his finger away, coated in slick, to show for a split second before he sinks back in, with a second finger accompanying it. He’s wet, fingers easily sliding in and out of him, making Lahabrea set his jaw at the sight.

And, when Elidibus again draws his hand back, Lahabrea’s eyes follow the clear line that connects glossy fingers to his sex. With a small motion of his hand, it breaks, Elidibus drawing his fingers to his lips.

Lahabrea hitches a breath, feels a thrill run into his belly when he can see Elidibus’ eyes on him. The moment they establish eye contact, Elidibus breaks the petrifaction that held him, opens his mouth, and tastes himself. He sucks hard at his fingers, drawing them out with a pop, bringing them closer so he could run his tongue between them, up and down, from fingertip to knuckle.

And with his hand cleaned, Elidibus ever so slowly dips his hand back down, spreading himself open for Lahabrea’s eyes _only_.

Lahabrea swallows.

“Fewer still receive this particular honor,” Elidibus’ voice is breathy, fingers flicking up his folds before sinking in, slow and deliberate, wrist curling as he sinks to the knuckle.

Delicate muscles twitch and flex as Elidibus clenches, breath hitching. Lahabrea’s mind is an ember-filled blizzard, this entire reaction wholly unexpected.

But absolutely not unwanted.

“Lahabrea, Lahabrea,” Elidibus purrs, rolling his head back, exposing his neck, adjusting so he can sink another finger into his entrance, hissing under his breath, “Is this what you want?”

Lahabrea can hear him thrusting over the sound of his voice, an obscene undercurrent that hazes his mind. He never had an inkling that Elidibus was _this good_.

“To see what would be left in your wake? To pretend this hand is yours?”

Elidibus raises his head again, taking a short breath as he fixes Lahabrea with a half-lidded gaze, lips parted and dry.

Silence prompts more words, more thrusts of Elidibus’ fingers, a pace that picks up until his breath is less even, laced with more gasps that bite through clenched teeth, “So quick to threaten, so eager to abandon your post. What do you think you are? Easily replaced? Never. Never, never, _never_.”

Elidibus’ fingers curl higher, words devolving into sharp breaths. The look in his eyes, snapped open and _staring_ , all too eager, makes Lahabrea feel like a spotlight is trained on him. He should give in, something suggests.

And he does exactly the opposite.

A leg slides off the bed, Elidibus audibly clicking his teeth together. Aether, burning and lust-quickened, laps at his toes.

“You deny this? O cruelest supplicant of mine, what is your price? What is atonement’s price?”

Fingers stop, pull out halfway, slick and obscene just for Lahabrea’s vision. With a final, wet noise, Elidibus rests the tips of his fingers on his clit, hissing through his teeth at the slightest motion, a jolt that twitches his entire body.

Silence is Lahabrea’s answer, the aether warmer than water around his foot. He can feel the lick of something slowly growing desperate against his skin, a part of his soul resonating to the thrill of watching Elidibus, but he can be stubborn. Even if he simply wants to shove three of his fingers up the other man’s sex and kiss him breathless.

Strange how this is the one time he could dig in his heels.

“We can’t have silence, w-” a word is cut off as Elidibus’ fingers flick in small motions, make him gasp deep and low, “-an answer, _please_. We need each other, now and forever. Bound by ties of blood and aether.”

Further silence just spurs Elidibus to further heights, a zenith Lahabrea had been waiting for. He’s squirming, on his back, flicking his clit with unrelenting pace, making soft, sweet noises as his breaths come uneven and body quakes from his ministrations.

“Please. Tonight, for us- Want, need, feel, take it _all_ ,” The cry that Elidibus pulls out of his mouth is obscene, something Lahabrea had never heard, “Come _close_. And we’ll end this for you, only you. Deny ourselves for simple joy. Please, just _talk_. Please, please, please-”

Lahabrea raises a hand, Elidibus freezes with a triumphant, euphoric grin, legs shaking against his arm. And, true to his words, he pulls his hand away from what could have been orgasm, breath rattling in excitement and the fine edge of pleasure.

“May I have a moment?” Lahabrea makes the mistake of releasing his corona.

The overpowering pressure that barrels into him sends him reeling. Need, paramount and overzealous, the sheer thrill of Lahabrea finally responding. Lahabrea presses back with the same fervor, whatever made him so stoic falling apart at the seams. The rush, the high of Elidibus knowing his presence is _wanted_ feels intoxicating. Lust chatters in his veins with ever beat of his heart, gazing at Lahabrea with need—

Lahabrea raises a hand, gasping, eyes unfocused from the sensory barrage. Reluctantly, Elidibus withdraws, his mental storm subsiding to a gentle breeze that roars at the edges of Lahabrea’s corona. It takes a moment to ground himself, but Lahabrea can finally distinguish objects after a few seconds, no longer feel the phantom sensation that is Elidibus’ existence.

He lied, it is still present, but mixes as an invisible, distant thunder that laps against the deep fire in Lahabrea’s belly. A heady sort of relaxation, one that made concentration difficult, the need to take action gnawing at his nerves.

It takes seconds longer for Lahabrea to gain his wits about himself, pulling the surface of his halo away, wicking at the edges like wisps of smoke, calling his aether into the noble act of Creation.

Lahabrea gives Elidibus a pulse of triumph and sinister joy, the aether between them pitting in momentary confusion as Lahabrea’s surges back in full force. He won’t give Elidibus a single moment to wonder; he leans forwards into a kiss, a pair of hands rising up to eagerly cup the sides of his face.

The need in Elidibus’ corona is echoed in his motions, a leg sliding past Lahabrea’s, shifting so Lahabrea was encircled by his legs. He’s messy and loud in his kisses, a need born from lust Lahabrea had relentlessly fanned.

Elidibus can’t see what is on Lahabrea’s strap, instead fully trusting in his partner’s judgement. However, as Lahabrea takes the thick length into his hand and presses it against Elidibus’ belly, a slight shock runs through Elidibus’ thoughts, confusion rising for a second.

“Is that glass?” He whispers, pulling away from biting Lahabrea’s earlobe.

Lahabrea hums, kissing a temple, curling fingers around the edge of a hip, applying pressure with a shoulder. Elidibus withdraws to lays himself down, stretching languidly and fixing Lahabrea with an ever so slight smirk. Both hands pull away, resting on elbows before taunting him with a quick hand motion.

And Lahabrea gently pats a thigh, lifting it up to sit delicately on his hip, Elidibus carefully watching with hooded eyes. Lahabrea focuses on a sliver of his power, a whisper of a warm breeze passing through before he rubs newly-oiled fingers against the glass length, putting on a show of slicking it up.

“Do you really need to do that?” At least Elidibus had some mirth in his voice.

“Yes,” Lahabrea flicked his eyes down, evidence to the contrary in copious amounts.

Elidibus’ knee taps his wrist, ankle digging into the back of his leg.

Amused annoyance radiates from Elidibus. Lahabrea only brushes his own aether through it as he leans forwards, rubs the tip of the strap up against Elidibus, relishes in feeling the other man’s muscles tighten under his grip.

“Do you require more-” Elidibus cuts off with a sharp breath as Lahabrea chose that moment to press forwards.

There’s resistance, something Lahabrea only answers with gentle pressure, hearing Elidibus gasp under his breath when the first inch pops in. Lahabrea gently rocks his hips, further slicking the first tapered part of the length, pulling a hand over to brush his thumb over Elidibus’ clit, in time to his thrusts.

Elidibus’ breathing quickly grows less even, halo growing hazy as Lahabrea used precious little. Elidibus’ corona feels like a piece of scratchy fabric where it brushes against Lahabrea’s skin, making him shudder from the invisible touch. A wordless, aetherial nudge Lahabrea meets with a raised brow.

Elidibus looks him straight in the eye, putting weight on his hands ever so slowly. In one moment, Elidibus’ leg digs into his side, muscles flex and push, catching Lahabrea off guard as he is rolled over. The length is freed, but that is remedied with one of Elidibus’ hands, letting him slowly sink down until his pelvis meets Lahabrea’s own.

Dark triumph flares with Elidibus’ smirk, Lahabrea only stares at where the clear glass splits his partner wide, soaking the fabric of his strap with slick. Elidibus is less moderate, leaning forwards and rolling his hips, one hand propping him up, the other digging into Lahabrea’s scalp.

And what a show _indeed_. Elidibus is close enough that Lahabrea could feel his breath huff over his hair, lightly audible over the wet slap of his hips to Lahabrea’s. Elidibus’ even breaths that come in time with his thrusts make for a heady mix, only making desire pool molten in Lahabrea’s halo. And, in turn, Elidibus only shares sensation, a dim echo of reality meant to only deepen the burn in Lahabrea’s belly. Being stretched, going at a pace that ended every thrust with a sweet note, the sheer size of something within…

Elidibus’ pace is constant stimulation, short thrusts that grind deep into him, then a few that threaten to have Lahabrea slip out before he slams back down. Lahabrea’s mouth dries as he stares, listens to his partner’s breath growing steadily uneven, fluttering and precise. Elidibus’ halo rises in intensity, stark and sharp against the static lust of Lahabrea’s own.

Elidibus lets go of Lahabrea’s hair, sits back up to bring a hand to his clit, middle finger rubbing in small circles as he grinds down on the length, biting his lip and staring down at him, faint whimpers dying in his mouth. His aether sharpens, all the more heady as he times his fingers with his bounces on Lahabrea’s lap, letting the gentle curves pull against him.

Glass excelled at losing or gaining heat. A fact Lahabrea was more than willing to capitulate on, letting Elidibus get used to placid aether pooled at his legs, so the spell that radiated from it would be all the less obvious. Yet, Elidibus immediately notices the chill radiating from the length, warbles in surprise as he bucks the ever so slight frost deeper into his burning core.

A sharp curl into the side of Lahabrea’s aether meant not every part of Elidibus is pleased at his shenanigans, dull pressure growing more forceful when Lahabrea chases Elidibus’ hips. With a flick of Lahabrea’s fingers, the spell snaps, soothing chill quickly overpowered by sheer warmth. And returns again a few thrusts later, making Elidibus hiss and grind harshly into his hand.

The third time, Elidibus snatches Lahabrea’s wrist and brings fingers to his lips. Drags them up and nips, runs his tongue against his knuckles. Lahabrea’s hand was chill, _certainly not_ a byproduct of the spell. He shudders at how warm Elidibus’ tongue is as it traces his fingers, feel the subtle vibrations of low moans from the man’s vicious pace. Soft, warm, sending a ripple of need through his body, making Lahabrea bite his lip and give up hiding his need.

Elidibus smirks, kisses his nails, and lets go of his hand.

Lahabrea lets it hover, Elidibus staring at it from the corner of his eyes.

It makes the other hand, quick as a viper, able to strike unseen; Lahabrea all too eager to surge forwards and turn the tables once again, a delighted laugh cut short as Elidibus’ back hits the mattress. It’s Elidibus’ turn to grin tauntingly, Lahabrea looming over him, locks of his hair draping his face. A leg hooks over Lahabrea’s hip; Lahabrea grabs it and pulls it forwards, the second one following voluntarily.

He grinds the length against Elidibus’ slit, slowly inching his partner’s legs onto his shoulders, rocking back to slip back into Elidibus with a single stroke. One of his hands hovers over his lover’s shoulder, legs shifting as he adjusts the angle in minute increments. Seconds pass, Elidibus hovers his presence.

Lahabrea’s first thrusts are slow, shifting where he laid his hands, where he needs to support. A knee taps him in the side of the head, making him give a harsh buck, Elidibus gasping in response. A knee smacks the side of his head again, more insistent this time, muscles tightening against his back. Lahabrea curls a lip at Elidibus, his grin notching up a peg or two.

“Afraid you’ll be spent so soon?” Elidibus tilts his head, Lahabrea hissing between his teeth.

He wanted brutal? The ball was in Lahabrea’s court now. He snaps his hips back, starting a furious pace, giving up his hold on Elidibus’ hips, leaning forward enough to bend the other man’s back. He only needs one hand to hold, the other steadying him, head right next to Elidibus.’

The sharp slap of his hips is faint compared to the high pitched warbles he draws from Elidibus, a sporadic low cry punctuating every peal of short, grinding thrusts. Lahabrea had energy to _spare_. He wheezes like a beast, goading himself to keep a pace very few could hold for long. Elidibus only gets more breathy, growing ever louder as Lahabrea keeps the pace, nails scrabbling into the sheets under his back.

The strain catches up. His thighs start to ache, Lahabrea’s breath getting heavier with each heave, pace more sloppy, more prone to harder, rocking thrusts. He grits his teeth and hides exhaustion with deeper thrusts, slower pace disguised in longer strokes. Elidibus’ aether is gorgeous to feel against his skin, roiling and erratic, much like the cries coming from his mouth. Desperation, need, overwhelming fire and lightning that presses against Lahabrea, threatening to sear him if Elidibus falters.

Lahabrea can only encourage, sink talons of his own corona deep into the raw emotion as it grows all the more oppressive, the hollow beat of aether thudding loud enough that Lahabrea can barely feel Elidibus jerking forwards as everything overwhelms him.

The maelstrom churns for but a few seconds. Lahabrea weathers it, basks in sensation that skitters across his halo and flesh. His hips buck weakly for a few more thrusts, drawing out a few static-laced hisses from Elidibus as the last full shocks of his orgasm peter out of his system. There is calm.

Lahabrea breathes, taking stock of the lovely sight below him.

Elidibus’ eyes were unfocused in lazy haze, an emotion wholly different from drowsiness or even languor. Eyes half-lidded and only barely aware of another presence, Lahabrea could feel the dull glow of contentment press into his halo, as gentle as the press of lips against his own. Time seemed to move slower for Elidibus, a distinctly post-coital lethargy leadening the fingers that skittered across Lahabrea’s cheek, the breaths that ghosted his lips and chin.

Lahabrea gently cups the side of Elidibus’ face, feeling him lean into the touch, nuzzle and sigh contentedly, afterglow marking his mannerisms wholly different to Lahabrea’s bone-deep exhaustion.

He’s still catching his breath as Elidibus snuggles into him, making ever so small noises when a minute motion shifts the length in him. They’re barely noticeable, but Lahabrea is keen. He senses them like the thoughts, ephemeral and nascent, that slip through Elidibus’ tenuous grasp on the edges of his psyche.

Lahabrea can let the need pooling wet and slick between his thighs wait just a while longer. Elidibus like this does not last and his lust can still flare from the barest of cinders.

From the halo so eagerly lax against his own, Lahabrea can feel Elidibus drift from basking to drowsing. His thoughts become barely-coherent snippets, glowing motes of speech and color-feelings. Slipping him onto a pillow raises barely a mutter or noise, no irritation or gentle annoyance from Lahabrea’s touch being relinquished. No response even when the glass length is pulled from him.

And ever so slowly, Lahabrea sits back on his legs, admires his handiwork, thumbs the fleeting warmth on slickened glass.

Elidibus’ bed isn’t for Lahabrea’s pleasure. He ghosts his thumb along his waistband, static curling in his belly, drives his finger under the fabric.

The gentle strain of the harness disappears in an instant, the glass dildo falling next to his thigh. It feels good to finally touch himself, to bite his nails just above his slit, that Lahabrea momentarily forgets where he is.

It’s wise to pray at the foot of a bed, not on it.

He slides back, blankets gently whispering as inch by inch, Lahabrea lowers himself to the floor. His knees bite cold stone, legs rest on the less glacial fabric of a rug. His hand easily slides a finger into himself. Two, even, with a noise that fills Lahabrea’s ears.

He sighs between his teeth, curls forwards until his forehead rests on the side of the bed, hooking his fingers up until he hisses between his teeth. His eyes are focused on the hand he has between his legs, finding his clit. Pleasure is sharp once he finds the perfect angle to rub, a bolt that pricks his mind with overstimulation. Lust barely sated, Lahabrea pulls them away, hissing a breath between teeth. Slowly; there was no rush.

Replaying previous events is more than enough for him. And he can be brazen in his thoughts— Elidibus was sedate on the bed. But, with their aether still intertwined, Lahabrea’s actions were akin to masturbating next to a sleeping lover. He couldn’t hide the obvious shocks of delight for long, but hopefully the need that would eventually diffuse into the edges of his aether wouldn’t wake Elidibus.

Something cold pricks the back of his ankle. Lahabrea ignores it, biting his lip to muffle soft whines as he clenches around nothing. He closes his eyes, curls his toes and tightens his muscles as he remembers the noises he pulled from Elidibus, the ferocity he thrusted into his partner with. Try to match the motions of his fingers to memory, fail at hiding a sharp cry.

A tendril of aether curls at his hip, shocks Lahabrea’s eyes open, scattering hard-won pleasure in an instant.

Elidibus is still blissfully unaware, a gentle presence pressed into Lahabrea’s corona, but what weeps off the surface, what is the creation that encases the Heart, is everything _but_ unaware.

Lahabrea had completely forgotten about Zodiark, panic stabbing through his mind. He had so convinced himself Elidibus was his own entity, something untainted by-

_Zodiark_ , that divine abomination, curls another tendril across his legs like a ream of ice. It- _His_ aether pricks at Lahabrea’s exposed flesh, makes it itch and burn like suckers were attached to his flesh. Another tendril curls along his arm, a phantom sensation that seeks to tug his arm away from his crotch, as tantalizing as the fact that Zodiark _is_ Elidibus. His lover ascended to godhood.

And who is Lahabrea to disobey? The sensation is so wonderful, his skin crawling pleasantly as Zodiark’s tendril twines around his arm from elbow to wrist. Lahabrea hums encouragement into the mist surrounding him, waiting for the god to pick up the underlying need for _more_ that radiates.

The sheer ecstasy of obeying is a far better replacement to manhandling his clit. It radiates dusken and pure in his mind and soul, only intensifying as a silken sheet of darkness worms its way between his halo and Elidibus,’ prying them apart. He leans into it with body and soul, lets it hang and brush against sensitive flesh and the vestiges of his aetherial halo.

One tendril is smooth, ephemeral and slick against Lahabrea’s back. He arches into it, lets it curl around his hip, tease the sensitive flesh of his belly, whine through clenched teeth, a thousand unsaid praises skating on the surface of his corona, brilliantly dark and succinctly profound.

_A better Speaker We could not dream of_.

Zodiark’s voice is Elidibus’ sultry own, thrumming with power and dun praise. It sparks a delirium in Lahabrea’s mind, a fleeting feeling of being on top of the world, winning against bleak odds, as Zodiark only strengthens His hold on his soul.

The tendrils thicken to tentacles, thick aether-born musculature that latches onto his limbs, curls possessively at every scrap of skin. Lahabrea trembles just from touch, of a thousand very real strands teasing his legs apart, silken threads weak in solitude but unstoppable in legion. His arms are useless, only limp flesh for the tactile sensation of slowly-realizing suckers. The tips thread through his fingers, pulling them apart with a patience Lahabrea wished he had.

He’s bound by a god, spread obscenely for display, and that only makes him wetter in anticipation. Blearily, Lahabrea presses his raw emotions, the excitement and carnal desire, into the air, into a shaded dust storm that’s overwhelming to bask in.

_Such fervor, such devotion in your prayer… You go above and beyond in what should be simple service. To sacrifice reciprocity in the most intimate of acts, to absolve thyself from base need; that is what We must reward._

A thick tendril curls into Lahabrea’s hair, pulling his head back with gentle force, something once infuriating now sending skittering sparks between his legs. Another tentacle crawls up his back, gently coils around his neck, slides up his face, letting every sucker pluck like dozens of kisses against his skin before it curls into his mouth.

A surprise, but Lahabrea is too busy gasping to notice at first, enthralled by gentle touch until the thicker part of Zodiark’s tendril is roiling in his mouth. It’s cool and slick, yielding to teeth and tongue with almost-flesh-like consistency, pulling at Lahabrea’s tongue and easily slipping into the back of his throat. Violet and carrying the electric taste of charged aether, it pushes and pulls in Lahabrea’s mouth, thrusting with grim stimulation that muffles every noise of rapture it pulls from him.

Zodiark burns and overshadows his aether, everywhere and nowhere, physical in those dark tendrils and invisible where they begin. Phantom fingers skitter across his shoulders, dig into his hips, trace against where tentacles stay rooted on Lahabrea’s skin. He whines, high-pitched, sucking hard on the tentacle in his mouth, deep enough to curl down his throat.

_Can you still form words, Speaker? We know you can, your thoughts can carry what the aether-flesh cannot._

Zodiark’s will thrums into his skin, strokes his corona, does everything with practiced touch that Lahabrea _aches_ for. Where Zodiark gleaned his preferences, desires, is something Lahabrea knows but does not consider.

It is far simpler to intone a prayer than it is to _consider_.

_Hail, Zodiark, full of grace,_

Lahabrea’s thoughts were far clearer than whatever he could physically say. And he is rewarded with Zodiark’s aether swelling like stormclouds against his own, the tentacle stroking his belly moving down, curling around his soaking-wet sex and pulling a rebel yell at just how chill it was against him. Just a taste of what was to come, nebulae of darkness delicately watching his responses. And oh did he want it.

_Our city is with thee_.

The juxtaposition of how calm his mental voice is to how vocal Zodiark makes him is almost laughable. Twitching, jerking, bucking into the tendril teasing at his entrance while sucking long and hard on the one in his mouth. Calmly praying, letting Zodiark bask in the attention and return it with carnal touch. The roaring pleasure that made time blur and the world haze against it.

_Blessed art thou amongst Amaurotines_

Lahabrea’s teasing ends with a tendril sliding smoothly in him, a sharp gasp leaving his lips as it fills him, the stretch uncomfortable until it _moves_. A phantom hand trails up his stomach, pointed fingertips simultaneously ethereal and worldly. The pull of the tentacle’s underside drags deliciously in him, so different from the slick, smooth top. All that surrounds Lahabrea is the swell of a higher calling, his reply a silent cry for divine intervention.

_… and blessed are those whose blood runs in thy aether_.

Zodiark’s tentacles burn with a cold warmth, steadfast in holding Lahabrea’s legs, balm to his burning core. He leans back, moves a hand to between his legs, grasps a tentacle with the same pressure his teeth exert. It pulses, thin skin slipping slick as it thrusts into him, dull stimulation that stokes pressure and flame. A presence that hums and holds him in familiar grip.

_Holy Zodiark, Savior of the Star_ ,

The thrusts grow fiercer, a fervor behind them that mixes with the lightning strikes of what could be divine pleasure, skittering and flickering on the edges of Lahabrea’s halo. With an obscene pop, Zodiark withdraws the tendril from Lahabrea’s mouth, curls it around his neck, a dull pressure that immediately makes Lahabrea surge feral glee into his corona. No longer muffled, now loud and vocal, gasping and panting, whining and moaning.

_Pray for the Convocation_ ,

Zodiark’s chokehold is delicately brutal. His pulse thuds in his neck, thoughts swim in a tide of raw pleasure. Every drag of the suckers against his inner walls is all the more intense. Tugging against his God’s grip only adds to the flames that burn low in his belly. He could lose himself in the warm fog, but sheer willpower is what keeps Lahabrea going. How else would he receive more?

_Now and at the final hour of our world_.

Is it possible for Zodiark’s tentacle to grow within him? The sensation is overbearing, slick and heavily textured, the member itself shifting to curl up. Suckers press against Lahabrea’s clit, rubbing and curling with a gentle pressure his fingers could never emulate. It rips a raw cry from his lips, high keens as he bucks into stimulation from two fronts. His legs tremble, muscles flex, legs part ever wider for Zodiark’s ministrations. His mental voice is faint, a hasty afterthought, too indulgent in the present.

_Amen_.

Zodiark vaporizes the tendrils that bind Lahabrea’s arms, letting him fall face-first onto the bed. He gets a moment to catch his breath, flare surprise and disappointment as he turns to look over his shoulder.

A very real, very warm hand cups his cheek and turns his head back forwards.

“Don’t leave,” Elidibus true voice is soft in the air, a sharp lance to Lahabrea’s mind.

Sat on his legs, Elidibus is staring down at him, wreathed in bolts of misty violet silk. The corners of lip lips twitch up at the palpable thud of desire in Lahabrea’s aether, hand follows Lahabrea’s chin as he props himself up on his arms. Zodiark presses clawed thumbs into his hips; tentacles trace Lahabrea’s sex, tantalizingly slow.

Waiting was infuriating, but Lahabrea was more than happy to wait for Elidibus, the both of them drinking the other in, Lahabrea’s aether trying to weasel out a scrap of emotion from the intertwined darkness and consciousness of Elidibus’.

“I’m sure we can figure out something that suits all of us, can’t we, Lahabrea?” Elidibus’ voice is a purr, shifting his legs on the bed, huffing in amusement when Lahabrea puts his hand on his thigh.

Lahabrea has a mental image, and it is anything but obvious.

Delicately, Elidibus shifts his weight, letting go of Lahabrea’s chin, letting him grip him by the hips and pull him forwards. Lahabrea’s tongue traces the top of bandages, kisses a collarbone before he sinks down, sighing through his teeth as the underside of a tentacle flicks against his clit.

A claw runs down his spine as he mouths Elidibus’ belly, pressing gentle kisses just above his hips, pausing so Elidibus could lay down, expose himself more fully, wrap his legs around Lahabrea’s shoulders.

A tentacle presses gently against Lahabrea’s folds as he kisses the short hair above Elidibus’ slit, runs his tongue up the other man’s sex to tease. And Zodiark teases him in turn, gentle stimulus that makes Lahabrea huff a hot breath against Elidibus. Elidibus is a bit more vocal, a hand darting to his mouth, eyes locked on Lahabrea between his legs.

Zodiark prods, pulls heavy in aether and materialized flesh, anticipation hanging in the air as slick muscle curls against Lahabrea’s entrance. Elidibus’ breath is shallow, hand faltering enough for Lahabrea to see him bite his lip, nudge his back with a heel. Perhaps he would tease longer.

“ _Speaker_ ,” Zodiark’s voice is an undertone to Elidibus,’ thrumming gently against Lahabrea’s back.

Lahabrea presses a shit-eating grin into Elidibus’ thigh, kissing and lightly nipping, “Would you like me to preach for you? Show you the extent of my silvered tongue?”

The aether is heavy after Lahabrea’s words, Elidibus’ legs flexing as he tenses. Zodiark is ever-insistent, tendrils spreading Lahabrea’s legs apart, lifting his hips so the tentacle at his sex could curl against his belly.

“Would you like that?” Lahabrea asks the silence, watching Elidibus with rapt attention.

“… _Yes_.”

Zodiark’s aether-claws are fierce, a pressure against Lahabrea’s halo, needy and insistent. And Lahabrea finally gave both what they want, dipping his head down to lay a kiss against Elidibus’ folds, darting tongue to weave between delicate, slick flesh. His lips brushing Elidibus’ clit make him softly gasp, music to Lahabrea’s ears, the tendril at his belly drawing away to graze his own sex.

Zodiark is quick, Lahabrea could feel the need radiating in the room. He curls his tongue around Elidibus, humming into him as Zodiark slides his tendril into his soaked folds, filling him in one smooth motion.

It’s a slight struggle to contend with a god rutting into him with desperate need, to have Elidibus grip his hair with about the same. Sharp breaths crackle with aether as Lahabrea is knocked into him, trying to keep steady pressure at his partner’s clit. His mouth is sloppy as Zodiark pulls gleeful cries from him, re-stoking flames that haze Lahabrea.

“ _Good_ ,” Elidibus hisses, his hips pressing against Lahabrea’s face in almost perfect time to Zodiark’s tentacle.

It’s a pleasant, warm feeling. Lahabrea drags his teeth against folds, kisses and sucks and _tastes_ Elidibus until his chin is soaked with slick. He’s probably not any better off, with the tendril coiling and thrusting vigorously in him, making him hum silent praises into Elidibus’ flesh.

Quickly, on impulse, Lahabrea pulls a hand from a hip, incurs a delicious swipe of claws against his back in retaliation. Another tentacle joins the first, curling around where the other is sunk within him, probing before deciding that making Lahabrea’s vision blur and limbs numb by teasing his clit is far better. Lahabrea sinks two fingers into Elidibus, needing no preparation with how wet he is, curls them up and lets the other man rut into his face and hand.

“Yes, _yes, yes_ ,” Elidibus chants, grinding into Lahabrea’s face, air permeated with the crackle of aetheric lightning. A leg twitches on Lahabrea’s shoulder, the flesh around his fingers tightens in pulses, “More, Speaker, _more_!”

Lahabrea already has his mouth desperately chasing Elidibus’ clit, tongue ever so delicate against the engorged flesh. Zodiark keeps him teetering on being completely unable to focus, dual stimulation dull and sharp from the tentacles in and against him. The delicate balance shatters like glass the moment the god mimics Lahabrea’s hums within tendrils, pressing into him with no mercy.

Lahabrea shrieks, bucking back into Zodiark, momentarily forgetting his duty as the god’s tentacles vibrates in him, a low buzz that makes Lahabrea dig his fingers into Elidibus, lay his head against a thigh and writhe.

“My lord!” He gasps, voice warbling, Zodiark moving with no mercy, Lahabrea barely able to curl his wrist in Elidibus.

Elidibus, at least, is patient. He cards a hand through Lahabrea’s hair as Zodiark reams into him, lets Lahabrea gasp and moan, strain to be pet. It takes Lahabrea a few moments to adjust to the new stimulus that curls into him with a fierce grip, returning to his ever-important work once he could piece together a coherent command to his body.

There’s a distinct desperation in the way he drags his tongue against Elidibus, slides and curls his fingers in the other man. He’s panting harshly, erratic in swiping with his tongue, but Elidibus loops a lock of hair around his palm, shoves Lahabrea hard against him.

Lahabrea’s nose is buried in Elidibus, stifling his breath and unable to lean back with how Zodiark was shoving him forwards. It’s a blissful, transient existence that last for far too little. The oppressive, heady heat that bears down on Lahabrea’s halo, the physicality that lances through every fiber of his being. How hard he tries to reciprocate, the only thing he could focus on in front of his lips.

Elidibus’ gentle breaths pitch up to needier keens as Zodiark’s phantom clawpricks grow even more numerous, raking down Lahabrea’s back in icy rivers. Zodiark comes to a stillness in him, jarring Lahabrea’s senses away from that heady, winding path to climax. Popping his lips off Elidibus, he’s greeted with the bite of nails into his scalp, curls his lip and sinks back.

“Just a little more, Speaker, you’re doing so well,” The praise is breathy, shaky, barely coherent from Elidibus and that makes it _all the_ _better_.

Lahabrea ignores the strain in his wrist, manages to sink a third finger into Elidibus, curling up into him as he gives his partner’s clit broad strokes with his tongue. A tentacle grinds against Lahabrea’s sex, barest of reciprocation as he tends to Elidibus. His head is clearer for it, though, and he traces the tip of his tongue against Elidibus, catches a sharp breath and jerk of muscles. Soft, plush flesh tightens around his fingers once, easily parted with the tempo his fingers go.

Carefully circling with tonguetip, Lahabrea pulls out a few desperate warbles, one of Elidibus’ legs twitching erratically, digging into his back as he’s shoved into the other man’s crotch. He gets relief when a tentacle thrusts in him, heavy and almost engorged, making him rock back just for a little more. After the rough stimulation, it makes the texture pressing into him all the more prevalent, a gentle flick against his clit enough to make Lahabrea press desperately into Elidibus’ crotch, thrust into him harder with his fingers.

He pleads, wordlessly, into his aether. He’s done enough, the dull scratch of nails against his scalp tell him enough, but there’s another left in this pair, one that holds the reigns to Lahabrea’s succor in His hands.

Elidibus pants laboriously, distracting Lahabrea from the obscenely wet sound his fingers make as he leans into the faintest of phantom touch against his backside. And Zodiark finally moves his tendrils, the thickest back to a brutal pace that shatters Lahabrea’s thoughts. He sucks hard on Elidibus, trying to rock back into the rough side of the tentacle fucking him wide, can feel Elidibus clench hard on his fingers.

Elidibus and Zodiark come undone in tandem, a brutal starburst that pins Lahabrea’s fingers in the other man and melts his halo into a pleasant buzz. Pulling his head away with a filthy, wet noise, Lahabrea growls under his teeth as ice spreads within him, full and prickling. The entire tentacle contracts in waves, each with another burst of chill sensation.

The sudden shock and pulse of Zodiark’s tendril make Lahabrea clench around Him, surrendering to the bright storm of pleasure and sensation above. He’s half aware as his body milks the tentacle in him, each wave a sharp peal of delicious pleasure. He barely remembers to gently rub Elidibus through his own orgasm, too caught up in his own.

He could watch the invisible storm in the back of his mind for hours, keep the pad of his thumb just above Elidibus’ entrance, keep drawing out breathy gasps as his own mind swims pleasantly. He’s half aware of something shifting him, Elidibus gripping him by a shoulder and pulling him close, so they could lay side by side.

He feels empty at once, only the sensation of slowly-warming ice seeping out of him, drawing him out of watching Elidibus’ carnal echoes with sheer curiosity.

His eyesight is not damaged from climax, but the room is wreathed in thick banks of dark aether, swirling like smoke around where they gather. Lahabrea sits up, pats Elidibus on the cheek when he makes a soft noise in protest, and then inspects what Zodiark had done to his lower half.

There is precious little unmarked. Those tentacles were as real as he felt them, suckers having kissed deep purple hickeys into his inner thighs and belly. Streaked against his thighs and staining the bedsheets, though, is richly violet fluid, now lukewarm against his flesh. There’s a copious amount, and still ever so slightly dripping from him, making Lahabrea grimace at how he could still feel it.

_Aether_ , his senses perceived. Zodiark had climaxed, _somehow_ , liquid aether that was slowly condensing into the roiling clouds about them. It’s a slight relief, as Lahabrea is momentarily shocked at how wide he gapes when he runs a finger against his sex. The slightest motion causes more aether to drool out of him, making Lahabrea bite his lower lip as arousal growls to life so soon.

Zodiark, sated, is nowhere to be seen. Or even _felt_.

Sadly, trying to stimulate himself is a raw feeling, unpleasant enough to reluctantly draw his fingers away, wipe them on the bedsheet, stare silently at the light purple stain.

He’ll clean that in the morning.

Elidibus was more than happy to draw him back into His arms, clinging onto him with possessive strength. The momentary clarity that invigorated Lahabrea was now fading into drowsiness, Elidibus’ warmth so easy to lean into. The room was so bitingly cold and Elidibus so warm, how could he hope to combat the force that closed his eyes?

A shiver, likely from the cold, traced Lahabrea’s hip like nails. At once sleep took him, cold warming to a pleased contentment deep in his soul, a yawning pit of darkness. To dream now of a dark tomorrow.


End file.
